Beneath dark skies
by in wide-eyed wonder
Summary: Eowyn laments the fall of Aragorn...


Perhaps... perhaps somewhere the sun shines upon a bright land, a world that has not seen such death and strife, darkness and despair. It may be there is laughter, and days of hope to come.

But not this day.

The shadow grows as the sun fades and resolve withers before it. Men pale and cringe before the death that shall come to us all. Gone is the honour and glory of death in battle as it was in days past. Now who shall remember the deeds of this house, or any other should this despair prove too mighty and fearsome for the hearts of mortal kindreds.

He is gone.

The clouds sweep by overhead in a breeze felt less strongly down below. The grey mass clump together and for an instant they block the sun, and it seems for this moment to have never been, as joy and laughter and memory of happier days seem also to be. The world dies, as all things must. In glory bright and strong empires rise and days shine out, the Spring brings its glories and love bursts aflame in hearts.

But all fade. Mighty kings and foul creatures bred by evil malice lie strwen in discord upon the grey hills alike, and there is no child or mother left to weep the loss, no kindred fell to repay the blood spilled. There is only death and darkness.

Beyond the dank and qualling swoop of foul forces to come in near days, fiercer and more heartbreaking perhaps is the slow and steady decay, the dismal fall from glory in past days into a lonely and sorrowful world without song or tale worth singing of.

About these great mountains from days long forgotten I wonder what peoples dwelt here. What fair land was this before the earth's changing? Great peoples, yes, and ones not so dwelt here. It matters not. Lost is their days and lost are their countries.

Death shall claim us all. It no longer matters to me now the time of my death as much as the manner of it. Though many desire long years, and to fall at last unmanned and witless into the neverending darkness of death begrudgedly, I want for myself no such thing.

Should death come to me, I would find it in battle, and leave in glory and triumph from this cold world and its pain and despair, though in the least to fall by a foe other then a long span of years. I would find peace in the silent halls beyond the boundaries of this world, and trouble no more with the petty things of this life.

Love once I knew completely, and maybe the feeling of being whole, but not for many days. beyond the passing of my parents I do not remember joy nor comfort. To watch that which I loved as a father fall into darkness and become a dotard controlled by coniving wills which seek to rule by fear. To lose my brother, driven from me more each day as war and vile things crept about our borders.

Now at last we come to the end. In this place shall our fate be decided. Maybe... maybe I would hope for a better future, for a joyous day. Maybe I could believe one day to laugh again. If only you were here. But they are only dreams, wishful illusions of things that can never be...

Because you're gone

I should not cry. I am stronger then this. Am I not a daughter of kings? So you called me, and so you gave me hope and courage to be. But I am not strong. I am frail, and I despise it. I desire you to fight beside our people but you have fallen. I desire instead of this menial life of servitude and duty to seek death and battle but may not have them.

I wish futilly for many things and have them not; and have not either the strength to obtain them beyond the orders and boundaries that confine me to that which I would not have.

I see the grief in the eyes of your companions. The dwarf wears it perhaps less openly then the elf, Legolas. In his dark gaze I find grief enough to pierce the heart and bring tears to those that would cry without knowing what loss they found within. I had not thought one so stern and mighty could cry and bear such heartache. It seems more grievious because of his pain, for even beyond this window I see him upon the wall, staring out with his keen sight as though if he searches long and hard enough it will bring you back.

His shoulders haunch and he turns to leave, not because he would leave, but because he must. There is much yet to be done. His blonde hair shines in the pale light and he fingers something in his hands, brows knit together in sorrow and deep thought. I lose sight of him as he enters through a gate into the courtyard, vanishing into the dense crowd.

I heard him singing earlier. Such words as befitted grief. I have never heard a tongue express so well the pain as I heard in his clear voice, though I understood it not. Death I felt in its haunted dirge, and many things beyond my knowledge, and I wondered if perhaps no mortal could possess such sorrow as he sang of.

And I am alone. Eomer is gone and my uncle will seek his death in battle. Then who will comfort me in my despair? Or perhaps now I no longer desire comfort, for me I fear it may not be found. Nay, for me I would have death, and findat last renown and peace such as these evil days cannot in life bring.

The darkness grows. I shall grieve, but no more tears shall I shed in bitter pity. I will steel myself for the end I know comes, and hope that though to good or ill this war may come to an end, I should find my rest within it. Maybe I will find you beyond the dreary confines of this world, but for now there are foes to fight, and for that I am glad.

Farewell, dunadan...

I got to my end.


End file.
